


But Mister Brain Has Long Departed

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: and malt does more than Milton can (to justify God's ways to man) [4]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine and her daemon fall prey to a favourite ploy of Becker and his daemon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Mister Brain Has Long Departed

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by tli. For the interested, Maggie is an African wild dog. http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live/photos/000/004/cache/african-wild-dogs_441_600x450.jpg Written for the team fest challenge at primeval_denial, and 1,598 words long. The title comes from Blackadder: “The eyes are open, the mouth is moving, but Mister Brain has long departed.” xbellaitaliax beta’d this for me. :)

            Captain Becker stood at the door, hand raised to knock. Christine lifted a hand to stop him, and wrapped up her call to the Minister. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I was sure you’d see it that way. Thank you, sir. Goodbye.”

 

            She put her phone down on her desk and gave Becker her toothiest smile. She could see Fidele shifting on the perch that that Lorraine woman and her rude daemon had brought, and sensed his disapproval of the Captain’s daemon. Christine agreed. She wasn’t familiar with the species of dog, but it combined the racing elegance of a greyhound with Mickey Mouse ears and the most absurd mottled pattern she’d ever seen, like a tortoiseshell cat without the style. She was oddly scruffy, considering Captain Becker’s evident devotion to tidiness and hairspray. “Do come in, Captain.”

 

            “Thank you, ma’am,” he said smoothly, and moved forward to stand before her desk at parade rest.

 

            “At ease,” she said teasingly. What was the good of having subordinates like this if she couldn’t flirt with them, after all?

 

            He allowed himself a slight smile, but didn’t so much as twitch. His daemon, who had been standing neatly at his heel, apparently took her words as a sign that her obedience wasn’t called for and sidled over to sit at the bottom of Fidele’s perch, blunt muzzle pointed up at him and large dark eyes hopeful. She thumped her tail on the floor; Becker and Fidele both completely ignored her, and Christine decided to as well. Possibly all Becker’s levity had taken up residence in his daemon.

 

            “Tell me, Captain,” she said invitingly, leaning back in her chair, “what do you think of the integration of the ARC with my operation, as it stands? Long overdue, of course, and this is merely the mid-point of a process that started a _long_ time ago, but you know the staff here so much better than me. I’d appreciate it if you could tell me of any... complaints. Any grievances.”

 

            Christine kept her eyes on Becker, but she knew that Fidele was now watching Becker’s daemon, who seemed most likely as a source of information. The daemon, seemingly encouraged by the fact that Fidele had switched his focus to her, grinned idiotically – showing off a lot of sharp teeth – and thumped her tail against the floor some more.

 

            “I am a new hire myself, ma’am,” Becker said blandly. “They don’t know me as they did the late Professor Cutter, or Major Ryan.”

 

            “But you know more than _I_ do,” Christine said, sitting back upright again out of well-hidden frustration and pulling a sheet of paper towards her. “I’m serious, Becker. I want this to go smoothly.”

 

            Becker thought about it. His daemon whined slightly at Fidele, as if asking to be friends. Christine could feel Fidele’s disgust, and tried to tamp it down mentally; it was an irritating fizz at the back of her mind, and she found it distracting. Fidele shifted on his perch, and glared at Captain Becker’s demented dog daemon.

 

            “Well,” Captain Becker said at last, and Christine snapped back to paying attention. “I think some people feel a certain amount of... resentment... that Lester was marched out in such a public manner, but I think that’ll fade with time. He inspired a lot of loyalty among the more long-standing employees.”

 

            A thought leapt to Christine’s mind, and she looked sharply at Captain Becker. “Including his PA?”

 

            Captain Becker blinked twice, and looked blandly surprised. It was the most expression she’d seen from him since he walked into her office, although his daemon was still playing up to hers in the most absurd manner. Christine honestly couldn’t understand how his daemon was even _part_ of him; they were so unalike. “Miss Wickes, ma’am? Lorraine Wickes? Like me, her loyalties are professional. I also think she’s meaning to move on soon. She has a promising career in the civil service.”  


            “Hmm,” Christine said, translating this as ‘like me, she means to go far and she’s not going to let an idiot like Lester get in her way’. She nodded her head at the perch Fidele was sitting on, stiff with anger at Becker’s daemon. “I’ve noticed that she’s a woman of initiative.”

 

            “Yes, ma’am.”

 

            “A particular friend, Captain?” she teased, wondering if this would crack him.

 

            “She has a boyfriend, ma’am,” Becker said, contriving to sound amused without letting so much as a hint of smugness slip onto his face. “A terrifying, psychotic boyfriend who happens to be under my command.”

 

            “Ah,” Christine said, marking this down for future reference. “What a pity.”

 

            “Indeed, ma’am. He is in Afghanistan at present, but I’m not sure that would stop him.”

 

            “Well, you must certainly avoid being eaten by the green-eyed monster, Captain,” Christine said, getting increasingly bored of this conversation and of the dull itch in the back of her skull that was Fidele’s displeasure. “It would be a nuisance when you’re so vital to this operation. Is there anything more you can tell me?”

 

            He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I don’t think so.”

 

            “In that case, Captain – dismissed.” She smiled at him again, hoping it would make him go away more quickly. “And do close the door after you; there’s a draught.”

 

            Captain Becker nodded, saluted, and went away, closing the door gently behind him and taking his bloody daemon with him. If it weren’t for the glass walls of the office, Christine would have allowed herself to collapse face-forward onto the desk and groan. As it was, she held up a fist, and Fidele shot over to her, grabbing her hand with ungentle talons as he flapped to a tense halt. She hissed, and blood welled up on the scratches, but it didn’t really hurt, not as Fidele could have made it hurt if he wasn’t her daemon but just an ordinary gyrfalcon.

 

            “Sorry,” he hissed, “just, that... _Her_.” He spat the word with loathing.

 

            “What’s her name?”

 

            “ _I_ don’t know,” Fidele said, sounding insulted, “do you seriously think I would associate with an imbecile like that? Ask your new P.A. She seems to know everything.”

 

            “Oh, you think we should keep her, then?” Christine said, leaning back.

 

            Fidele turned cold yellow eyes on her. “I think firing her would be dangerous. I think firing any of them, beyond the team who’ve run away with the artefact, would be dangerous.”

 

            “It does no good to sow discord,” Christine agreed, and smirked. “Well. More than necessary.” She got up and moved the perch closer to the desk, so that it stood behind and to the left of her.

 

            “Why did you do that? I liked it where it was,” Fidele complained, flexing his wings and moving his talons in the scratches he’d given her.

 

            She hissed again. “Don’t do that. I want you close and not cutting my hand to ribbons. Go on.” She put her hand beside the perch, and he hopped onto it with a bad grace. “If we’re keeping this shiny new P.A., we may as well put her to use.”  She pressed the intercom button. “Miss Wickes?”  


            “Ma’am?” Miss Wickes answered, her voice calm and impersonal.

 

            “A cup of tea, please – black with lemon, Earl Grey if possible.” Christine glanced at her hand. “And some Savlon and plasters, if possible.”  


            “Has there been an accident?” Miss Wickes said, sounding mildly surprised.

 

            “Nothing important,” Christine demurred.

 

            “I’ll send down to the infirmary at once, ma’am.”

 

            “Thank you.” Christine took her finger off the intercom button, and flopped back in her chair. “What are we going to do with them, Fidele?” she asked, and sighed.

 

            “Kill them all,” Fidele suggested grumpily. “Starting with that daemon.”

 

            “Impractical,” Christine said, but not without a certain longing.

 

***

 

            Hilary Becker let the door to the changing room bang shut behind him and collapsed onto a bench. Margaretha pranced around him on her long, slender legs, not even containing her glee.

 

            “Was that well done? Was it? Was it?” she demanded excitedly. Becker would have laughed at her, except that he knew he was just as insecure about his successes, and Margaretha was half of his personality.

 

            “Yes, you horrible daemon. You were brilliant. You had them both on the back foot.” He leant forward and hugged her, burying his face in her short fur. “But we’re not done yet, Mags.”

 

            “I know.” Margaretha disentangled herself from him, and looked at him with intelligent dark eyes. Becker felt a rush of affection for his daemon. Christine could think that Maggie was a scruffy mongrel to the end of her days if she pleased, but Becker couldn’t imagine having any other daemon than his mad, beautiful, unconventional, brilliant Margaretha. He’d always told anyone who would listen that she was the one with all the good ideas.

 

            “You’re worried, aren’t you?” Margaretha said.

 

            He sighed. “Yes. Another fine mess, Maggie, and it’s not like we can sort it out by going to Major Ryan, is it?”

 

            “Noooo.” Margaretha drew out the vowel. “We have to fix it ourselves.”

 

            Becker let out a snort. “Fix Christine Johnson? She’s more likely to fix us. What can we do? I mean, about the things that matter. Lester’s gone. We can’t help him. The team are well out of reach.”

 

            “We can do what we always do.” Margaretha propped her front paws on his knees and licked his face thoroughly, like a den-mother thinking that her puppy needed smartening up. Becker pulled a face at her as soon as he had the freedom to do so. “We play dumb, and see what happens.”


End file.
